


Pier Glass Reflection

by Rachael Sabotini (wickedwords)



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Aliens Made Them Do It, Body Image, Chains, Food Sex, M/M, Marking, Mirror Sex, possible drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-05-22
Updated: 2006-05-22
Packaged: 2018-05-08 08:50:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5491094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wickedwords/pseuds/Rachael%20Sabotini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rodney hates what he looks like naked, and there's a huge fucking mirror just next to them. John may be high enough to get a real thrill from it, but Rodney has never been the voyeur type—at least, not when applied to himself. And with his eyes closed, he can ignore the mirror and how he looks, ignore everything but John's touch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pier Glass Reflection

**Author's Note:**

> Chelle, Zoe Rayne and Sherrold all betaed this story, and I'm extremely grateful for that. This story was written for the 2006 "Cuff ‘Em, Vamp ‘Em, or Just Make ‘Em Come Already Kink and Cliche Multi-Fandom Challenge".

"Come on Rodney, look." John's voice is roughened by arousal, tight and demanding, and his breath is hot against Rodney's ear as he speaks. "You look so good like this. I want you to see how good you look, see why you make me so hot." His hands ghost over Rodney's bare chest, flick over his nipples, slide down to his stomach and cock; Rodney arches up off the bed with a little whimper, his body ignited by John's touch. "Open your eyes." 

God, no. Rodney hates what he looks like naked, and there's a huge fucking mirror just next to them. John may be high enough to get a real thrill from it, but Rodney has never been the voyeur type—at least, not when applied to himself. And with his eyes closed, he can ignore the mirror and how he looks, ignore everything but John's touch. 

"I love this, the way your arm dips in right here." John's hands trace the path of his words, and it sends a shiver of desire straight to Rodney's cock. "And this little dent here? I love that too." John presses a kiss to the dent in Rodney's elbow from where he's had one I.V. too many; his tongue flicks over it, and then he bites and sucks on it. Whimpering, Rodney knows it's going to leave a little bruise. But Jesus, John wants to mark him, and, well, Rodney's good with that. He flexes and arches, letting his hands rub over John's back, and John's rubs his cock against Rodney's thigh. "I love watching you here." 

The knowledge that John is watching the two of them both horrifies and fascinates Rodney. He whimpers slightly as John pulls away. The scent of the hardwood fire, like apples, spearmint and sandalwood, curls around him, mixing with the sweat of their bodies; he feels cold everywhere John had touched him before. He doesn't know where John is—can't feel him pressed against the bed the way he could just a moment ago—but he keeps his eyes closed tight. Reddened light peeks in through his shuttered eyelids anyway, trying to pry them open, force him to see. 

But if he opens his eyes, the mirror's right there, and Rodney could see every mole, every blemish, every roll of fat written on his body. John has no worries about what he looks like, especially now, but Rodney...does. He can't get away from the mirror either, not with...well, everything that's gone on. He swore to himself that he'd be silent and careful about it, not try and push John too much in his altered state, but then he saw the mirror and—it's all out of his control. 

It's so much safer here, in the dark of his own making. 

The chains are cool around his wrists, the sheets soft against his back, and John's there again, sitting down next to him, hands brushing the soles of his feet, rubbing his calves, stroking up his legs. It feels so good, to just lie here and enjoy it. Decadent. And if his eyes are shut, he doesn't have to see himself lying there, panting after John's touch. 

In the dark, he can secret all the sensations away, stockpiling and storing them to be enjoyed later. In the dark, he can relax, and just be. 

"Rodney." John's voice is low and rough in Rodney's ear as he trails his fingers over the softness of Rodney's waist and over Rodney's nipples, making Rodney gasp. He feels a little self-conscious about it, but John seems to like it, rubbing his hands over Rodney's belly, and honestly, it feels great. "You like this, right?" John caresses his face and Rodney turns into the warm, feather-light touch, pressing his lips to John's palm. "I need you to look at me." 

John's voice is anxious, yet warm and indulgent, all at the same time. It's too much; Rodney can't resist. His eyes flutter open, and he swallows hard, trying to ignore what he sees out of the corner of his eye, in the huge mirrored wall beside them. Twisting to his side so his back is to the mirror, the brief glimpse he catches of himself with John crouched above him is enough to make him stutter for breath. 

He blinks, sliding his hand down to his stomach where John's hands had been. The room isn't bordello-red or hotel-white. Instead, it's a rich blue-tinted green, dominated by the large, soft bed they're sitting on. The rucked-up sheets have a faded green leaf print on them, against a background of cream, and the chain that connects from the headboard to his wrists shines brightly against them. 

Behind him, John brushes his chin against Rodney's shoulder. "The room's not as interesting as we are." 

Maybe not, but now that his eyes are open, Rodney finds himself compulsively cataloging its contents. Rushes and cattails stand in a vase in the corner of the room away from the mirror, red-brown clay dusted with artistic cracks. There's a matching pitcher of water and a light-colored wooden bowl filled with honey-gold fruit next to it on the inlaid desk. Rodney's stomach growls at the sight. 

"Hungry?" Naked, John walks over and snags one of the fruits, biting so deep that there's a flash of tongue and bright-white teeth before the rich liquid spills out over his lips. "No citrus, I promise." His eyes stray to the mirror while Rodney watches; Rodney's own eyes travel down to where John's cock stands out thick and hard from his thatch of black public hair. 

He wants both the food and John's cock so badly. His mouth waters enough that Rodney has to swallow, and he can't stop his hand from wrapping around his own cock to give it a few pulls, just because he can. Thank God the chains are loose enough for him to reach, or he didn't know what he'd do. 

John watches, and takes another bite, his eyes huge, his breaths hitching in time to Rodney's strokes. 

"I can't—" Involuntarily, Rodney glances down at his hands and the chains binding him to the bed. The Elanui had been very excited when Rodney explained that they couldn't whisk John away without him, though their literal interpretation of what he had said left something to be desired. 

They promised to unchain him in the morning. 

"Oh, yeah. Right." John's brow furrows a moment, then relaxes. He kneels up on the bed between Rodney's thighs, bites the fruit again, then kisses Rodney, sliding the sweet, wet pulp directly into his mouth. 

And God, it's better than anything Rodney hoped for when he thought realistically about what might happen. He figured a shared beer someday, or a movie and a bowl of popcorn, but this is John, naked and willing, all lips and hands and warmth, pressing bits of food into Rodney's mouth. 

Unsanitary as hell, but hot, hot, hot. 

Rodney chews blissfully while John laughs, the succulent juice easing the dryness of his throat. He's had nothing since the Elanui brought him here and 'prepared' him for their god. John passes over another bite, and this time there is a flicker of tongue to accompany it, and it's good, so good. 

He looks down at his hands rather than watching John's laughing, smiling face so near to his own, and studies his chains. It's obvious that they're more for decoration than imprisonment, the ritual more important than the chain's strength. Around his wrists, there's a thick, knitted cuff of tiny, bright-silver links, dark blue and black beads woven in with them; it's surprisingly comfortable. 

"You okay?" John rubs his hands over Rodney's. "You don't exactly seem to be with the program here, and I thought...you know, that you wanted—" 

Rodney can't prevent the little bark of laughter that escapes. "Oh yeah, I wanted." 

"So what's the problem?" John cups his hand under Rodney's chin. "Relax, Rodney. Let go." 

_Let go._ It was always so easy for John, wasn't it? "Well, yes, you say that now, Colonel, but once you're done tripping it'll be a different story." 

John drops gentle kisses on Rodney's neck, then light nips that send shudders down his spine. "I'm not tripping. I didn't drink it." He sprawls out on the bed, immediately finding the good spot, right behind Rodney's ear, and for a moment Rodney can't think. 

"That's.... Oh, my." Rodney swats at John, trying to push him away, chains jingling with a bright, musical sound. "I saw them give it to you." 

"Hey, hey. Relax." John pulls Rodney to him, wrapping his arm around Rodney's back, but the hug doesn't relax Rodney one bit. He holds himself away as much as he can, keeping some distance between them, while a tiny voice tells him what a schmuck he is for wanting to give up and give in to John. 

John seems to notice Rodney's distress, and rubs his hand methodically up and down Rodney's back, as if he could push his anxiety—ha!—out of his muscles. "It's okay. I didn't have that much. Tasted nasty, like licorice syrup, rice vinegar and butter." He lets go, and Rodney flops back onto the bed, heart pounding; this was such a bad idea, trying to play the sacrificial lamb. 

"You're stoned." Rodney wipes his hand across his face, wishing he were anywhere but here. To be so close to what he wanted.... Some days, it was too bad he was such a perfectionist. Life would be so much easier if he didn't want everything on his own terms. 

"Not really, no." John stretches across the bed, taking hold of Rodney's hand, and gazes into Rodney's eyes. He certainly looks sober enough, even though his lips are kiss-swollen and his eyes focused and intense, and utterly utterly hot. 

Rodney's stomach flutters with the thought that maybe John isn't quite so stoned after all, and that maybe he isn't the only one interested in, uh, yeah. 

"Look, I knew what they wanted, and I thought.... They had a...book, I guess, though it was more of a series of painted screens. A couple of frescos. That kind of thing." John's voice aches with sincerity, and Rodney's heard John lie enough times that this moment rings true. "They told me how important this was, and that no one had been able to speak for their god since the drought started, and someone had to talk with him to get it to rain. I figured, what the hey. I get a little high, I speak in tongues, they figure out what they want to do, and we thank them for getting our asses out of Koyla's prison." His hand goes from Rodney's back to stroking the cleft of Rodney's ass, and wow, doesn't that feel good. "I didn't figure that anyone else would get involved with it." 

Rodney rouses himself, his whole body singing for more of John's touch. "What? You thought I was just going to stay in the tiny little room they assigned me, while you spent the night drinking who knows what and talking with a bunch of religious zealots who keep mentioning a sacrifice?" Rodney snorts. "Like I'm going to leave you alone with that." He flips a hand in the air, catching the movement in the mirror out of the corner of his eye, the chain giving a bright, bell-like ring. 

"I was fine." John moves toward the edge of the bed, but Rodney grabs him and pulls him back, missing the heat of John's body before he's even left. John ends up sprawled across him, their chests pressing against each other, and Rodney's cock lets him know that this is a much better plan. 

What is it that they are arguing about again? 

"Frankly, after that dinner they gave us, I figured you'd just bathe and pass out." 

"What, and miss out on all this?" The chain rattles as Rodney gestures, and John's face immediately crumples as he pulls away. 

"Oh, fuck. Rodney, I'm sorry. I didn't mean—" 

"Wait." Rodney holds up his hand, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. He can feel John settling next to him, the concern radiating off him like heat off a hot water bottle. "It's not...what you think." Rodney rubs one of the wrist cuffs, smiling slightly. "This doesn't bother me." He turns a little, and opens his eyes, looking at John. "I find it...surprisingly hot." He strokes John's arm. "Just like you." 

He swallows, feeling a little panicked about what he just said. John's fingers trace over the back of his neck, pulling him into another deep kiss, lips eager, body tense, and Rodney's willing—oh, so willing—to do whatever John wants. 

Feeling a little drunk, a little dizzy, Rodney pulls away from the kiss just as John presses him down onto the bed, hands gentle on Rodney's shoulders, turning his head slightly. From this angle, the mirror reflects John as well as the room, and John looks like one of the wood-gods carved into the headboard, his eyes a vibrant green in the lamplight. 

"Tell me what you see." 

"John—" It's always so much easier when he can stay in his head, when he doesn't have to see the reality of his life, his fears and his passions engraved in his flesh. He can just feel, and it's all distant, happening to someone else. It's all so easy. 

John's not one for easy, though, at least not where Rodney's concerned. "Tell me." John's eyes are bright, happy, fierce with lust, and even though Rodney's mind is screaming at him about this whole situation, the look in John's eyes just...does something to him and Rodney knows he can't disappoint him. 

So for the first time all evening, Rodney turns on his side, facing the mirror, really looks. 

He doesn't know why John wants this. What he sees is the wide expanse of his hairy, pale chest and the rolls of fat that bunch up around his waist. The darker skin around his nipples stands out from the hair that swirls around them. His cock is partially hard, lying negligently against his thighs, wiry pubic hair matted around it. 

There's a gold smear across his stomach from the make-up on John's cheek, red-black streaks from the paint on John's hands. His body shines with sweat and the oils that the Elanui applied before they bound him. The chains on his wrists and the collar barely even register; he can see how badly his hair is thinning. 

And his eyes are just as wide and intense as John's. 

John curls up behind him, resting his hand on Rodney's side, catching his eyes in the mirror. From his expression, Rodney can see that he's excited and waiting for something, wanting something from Rodney, and Rodney just doesn't understand what. 

When he looks at John, he sees...well, John's just worth looking at, okay? And Rodney knows he's nothing like that. "There's not a lot to see—" _other than you_ . "I see an aging scientist who's spent too long at a desk and—" 

John's hand cups his mouth, silencing him. "Look again. See what I'm seeing, okay?" 

What John is seeing? The drug shouldn't imbue any sort of telepathy as far as Rodney can tell. Still, it's John asking—puzzled, happy, sensual John, a John Rodney never really gets to see—so he tries his best. 

This time, he determinedly ignores the fat on his body and looks at his face. His skin is flushed and red, his lips swollen from their kisses. He's not sure how long they've been here, how long it's been since the Elanui pressed their 'drink of the gods' to John's lips and brought him to where Rodney lay in this chamber. 

_"Possessed by the god," they murmur, running their hands over John, over Rodney, petting them both as easily as Rodney once petted his cat. "Satisfy him. Bring us rain."_

_"He's stoned out of his gourd. How can I —"_

_"Serve him." The priest says, shutting the door behind him._

"You know what I see?" 

Rodney shakes his head. He's not sure he wants to hear this, but he has no strength to push away. 

John strokes Rodney's side slowly; in the mirror, Rodney watches as his hand curls down through the slick oil—the sun-tinted back of it such a sharp contrast to Rodney's pale skin—and rests against his stomach, idly stroking it, and he can feel the trail of heat John's touch leaves. He catches sight of John's face in the mirror, and the almost-reverent expression as John watches the two of them together. "I like this. I like all of this." He leans down and kisses Rodney's shoulder. "I like you." 

His hand traces a line from Rodney's stomach up his chest, and his fingers gently tease Rodney's nipples, flicking them briefly, then darting away to caress someplace else. He's smiling all the while, one of those secret, "fuck you" smiles, but this one is filled with affection. "Look at you, Rodney. Look what you do to me." He presses his cock against Rodney's ass. "Feel what you do to me." 

John's hard, and so's Rodney. He never imagined...he just looks different with John's hand on him. Catching John's eye, their gazes lock tight in the mirror, and it has to raise the temperature in the room by twenty degrees. He can feel the sweat breaking out all over his body. Okay, maybe John had something with that whole mirror thing after all. 

Carefully, John lays Rodney down on the bed and kneels between his legs; Rodney angles his head a bit so he can still watch the two of them together. "I like that you're solid, that you don't, you know, flinch if I press too hard." John's chin scrapes against Rodney's neck as he leans over Rodney's chest, arms braced on either side of it, and nips then licks the pulse point at the base of Rodney's neck; Rodney can feel every beat of his heart pressing against John's lips, the way a hummingbird beats its wings. "You're solid, and you feel good in my hand." Levering himself up, he cups his hand over Rodney's cock; his eyes in the mirror carry a stark intensity that makes Rodney shudder. Christ, what John does to him like this. 

"I like your dick, and the way these react." He brushes a fingertip over one of Rodney's nipples, and the sensation makes Rodney arch up off the bed. His whole body feels sensitized, and the barest breath from John's mouth makes him want to cry out. "I like that I can joke with you and you get it. You get me." John brushes his lips, feather light, across Rodney's neck, and Rodney's eyes momentarily flutter shut with the strength of his desire. 

He wants John, needs him, and he can't help but press up into his touch; he realizes he's whimpering, but he doesn't care. Whatever John wants, Rodney is good with. It's all good tonight. 

"See, I lucked out, and I get to have you too." John sinks back down again and growls out, "Love that you're all...slick and hard." He wraps his hand around Rodney's cock like he owns it, rolling his palm over the head, slicking it up with the tiny droplets of moisture seeping out of the slit. "I also see a guy who thinks too much, and who needs to have his mind turned off." 

Rodney jerks as—warm, hot, wet—John's mouth engulfs his cock, tongue pressing up against the base. He jerks back, hissing involuntarily, speech temporarily lost. It feels so fucking good, feeling the softness of John's lips sliding over him, bringing him off; he has to cry out. 

The sounds he's making seem to get John going, too. He becomes more focused, more intent; his hands glide down to cup Rodney's balls, stroke his perineum. 

It's more than Rodney can take. He has to touch John, has to feel his rough skin under his hands. Has to taste the sweat, the salt, the smoke that clings to his skin. The chains rattle pleasantly as he moves and it's better than music: it's John, his, at last. Rodney jerks and sighs, digging his hands into the muscles of John's shoulders; it's just as good as he thought it would be, back, alone, in the shower on Atlantis. 

Or not just as good—it's better. Because it's real. The mirror reflects back John's imperfect skin—moles and freckles and scars from a life well-lived—and those imperfections just prove that it's all happening. 

Rodney finally lets go. 

He groans and moans and chatters away about everything: how John's mouth feels sucking him, how John's skin feels under his hands. He watches John's lips slide down his shaft, driving him on and on. He fists John's hair; he strokes John himself. The curl starts in his belly as John gets more vigorous, more demanding, and Rodney can't close his eyes, watching as a drop of sweat drips from John's hair and lands on his hollowed-out cheek. 

It's something Rodney never expected to see. 

His hips jerk uncontrollably as John slips a finger inside of him, slick with spit or oil; it feels good, but it's a little overwhelming. John adds another and Rodney gasps, his heart pounds. It's incredible, them pushing inside of him at the same time as John sucks him...he can't contain it, and the sensation rolls through him, bubbling and spilling out. He tries to signal John, but it's too late, and anyway, John refuses to go, swallowing everything Rodney gives him. "God, John. That was...that's." He has no energy to sit upright anyway, and has to lie back against the bed. "You're amazing." 

"So are you." Brushing his fingers over Rodney's lips, John smiles predatorily as he stands up and rolls Rodney over, positioning him just so: on his side, legs scissored, facing the mirror, his cock resting laxly on one thigh. He kneels on the bed behind Rodney, and slides his hand up Rodney's ass and back, over his shoulders, and tugs at Rodney's collar. "Mmmm." He breathes into Rodney's ear. "You'll like this too, like watching me fuck you." 

Mentally, Rodney stutters over that, the images from cherished fantasies tumbling though his mind. He twists sharply, and the mirror reflects reality back at him, John's desire written in the way he's holding himself, and it makes Rodney feel like a rock star. "You may be right." 

Rodney's entire body flushes at the thought, and his toes literally curl with desire. In the mirror, Rodney watches himself nod, feeling the sweat drip down his back, John's cock hard against him. He has no way to deny it. He wants John any way he can have him...and right now, John's need is frying his mind. 

There's oil for the two of them, sitting next to the water and fruit. There might have been bread, too, but fuck that, Rodney didn't care. John's slick fingers dip into him, and Rodney's so relaxed right now, that it takes hardly anything to stretch him out nicely. The angle's wrong, though; he can't see what John's doing at all. Rodney shifts around, shoving pillows underneath himself and twisting so he's still able to lay his head on the mattress and look at the mirror—but now he can see John as well. 

John presses his cock up against Rodney's ass, and Rodney feel torn between closing his eyes to savor the sensation and watching John, but seeing John is worth it. He's focused, his lip caught between his teeth as he holds himself and Rodney's hip, getting the angle right. It's good, so good—full and hard and hot, and god, if Rodney was turned on by the sight of John's eyelashes fluttering as he sucked cock, it is nothing compared to the sight of John's head thrown back as he fucks. Rodney's cock is soft and acquiescent, but it doesn't matter; he watches himself in the mirror, watches John fuck him and there's a completeness in this that somehow exceeds the sexual. He spreads himself, relaxes, twists and thrusts up to meet John, doing everything he can to make John let go. 

And when John does, Rodney groans long and loud, his breath coming in pants as John ratchets up the pace. Now he's the one holding on, whimpering and crying out with the surge of desire that wipes out all other thought: just the two of them, fucking. He doesn't care what he looks like, it feels so damn good. He fists his hands in the sheets, trying to hold on, while his whole body feels like it's flying apart, being unmade, until all that's left is the feeling of John inside him. 

It's the "So...good, Rodney. So...fucking good," that does it, and he can feel John grabbing his hips, sealing the two of them together, and the warm liquid filling him; Rodney bites down on his arm, locking his yell in his throat, and his own cock twitches a little, though his own orgasm is already spent. 

Kissing him on the back of his neck, John sighs happily and rolls over, pulling Rodney down after him. 

Panting, Rodney gazes up at the ceiling. The only light in the room is from the fire now, and it casts a warm reddish glow over everything. He looks over at John, who is crashed out on the bed, and sighs, trying to get comfortable in his chains. "Only you, Sheppard." 

John pats him gently on the shoulder. "You're just put out because they didn't notice your talents at first. I promise, next time, if the aliens think you're a god, you can say yes." 

"Thank you, O Keymaster." Rodney hesitates, then cards his fingers into John's hair, leaving them tangled in with the sweat and the heat and just John for a minute before he drags them out again, trailing his hand down John's rough cheek to his neck, shoulder, arm. He tries not to think about the fact that he's basically petting his friend. But he doesn't stop either. 

"Uhm, feels good." John wraps his arm around Rodney's waist, and Rodney tentatively slides his arm down John's back, then sighs, closing his eyes. Faint pre-dawn light creeps into the room, as if trying not to disturb them; Rodney discovers he is too relaxed to care. He lies in John's arms, enjoying the warmth, and listens to the sound of the rain. 


End file.
